


War Debris

by Bryn Lantry (Bryn)



Category: Blake's 7
Genre: M/M, poem
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 1989-01-01
Updated: 1989-01-01
Packaged: 2017-11-03 17:06:25
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 336
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/383839
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bryn/pseuds/Bryn%20Lantry





	War Debris

##

The ship is dead tranquil  
as a ghost-crewed hulk,  
an antique calamity swathed in sea.  
Lie you as lazy, my maimed love.  
Yes, our fencer's masks are off –  
my feints fool no-one now  
while you, a pinned butterfly, can't parry.  
Your wars are lost – he, my rash rebel,  
is merely ridiculous  
who claims to have enemies  
when his ribs are half hollow.  
Yield, then, to peace,  
with His Sublimity the president and I.  
No, your crew escaped in the pods.  
I promised to salvage you and follow.  
Yet – my ship was so dreamily quiet,  
and you leant in the poppy-red light  
facing a spacescape of rampage and ruin,  
then looked to me meek with defeat...  
Yes, staying here is risky,  
drifting randomly through the battle flotsam.  
But I see your moribund eyes  
and forget the fear of any death but yours –  
you won't heal jumbled in a raft, or stranded.  
Orac tells me you and I are forsaking  
the Milky Way, its feuds and follies.  
You and I, fate has it, are straying to oblivion –  
hobbling through the fringe  
between human space and limbo.  
I can't halt the drift if I choose to.  
Did you know, Blake, there's food here to last  
two people five hundred years?  
Regenerative instruments,  
self-perpetuating energy.  
Your fine fingers, if I snatch them,  
are plagued with lassitude.  
If we weather the corpse-strewn battlefield,  
I doubt I'll trouble to steer the ship about.  
Half-dead, half-warped, we'll run away,  
truants from the human race.  
You always trusted me, indeed,  
to deliver you from your beliefs.  
Witting or not, that was your meaning.  
Doubt was ever your nightwatch incubus,  
and it lured with my face.  
It was when you pleaded faith in me, I think,  
that I decided to kidnap you.  
Tedium? Ah, never as long as I can  
revel in two possessions –  
a museum of precious stones, and you.  
This booty, in that waste nether-world, my friend –  
swindled from the enemy –  
will be mine as nothing and no-one  
was ever quite mine before.

###


End file.
